


How To Train Your Prompto

by concede



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gladio helps, Hurt Prompto, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 01:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concede/pseuds/concede
Summary: Gladio agrees to let Prompto accompany them to Altissia but only on the condition that he's properly trained in fighting.When Prompto starts showing up late to training suddenly, Gladio is pissed for more than one reason.





	How To Train Your Prompto

It’s almost winter; the air feels crisp between rain showers, torn between two seasons as the trees shed leaves of varying autumnal shades. In the late spring, Noctis will set out to Altissia to wed his bride. Gladio, as his sworn Shield, will be among the privileged few to accompany the Prince of Lucis on his journey. Ignis, as a trusted adviser, will be there too. 

Months ago, when he was first told, Noctis had insisted on Prompto’s presence in his entourage. It didn’t matter that Gladio thought it was a bad idea. His job was to keep _Noctis_ safe. The last thing he needed was to be worrying about some punk-ass blond getting them killed while they were on the road! So he’d insisted on some conditions. Namely, the boy needed proper instruction in how to defend himself if push came to shove. Gladio hadn’t been _volunteering_ his services exactly, but Noctis had taken it as that with a smug smile, all too happy to ‘sacrifice’ his daily one-on-one training sessions with Gladio for a while if it meant that his best friend could come along. 

To his credit, Blondie had been surprisingly _eager_ that first day, all nervous energy and hopeful smile. 

Gladio remembers it all too fondly. He’d left Prompto licking his wounds a thousand times or more that day, but he _never once gave up_ ; every time Gladio was certain he’d beg for a reprieve – that any sane man in his shoes surely would – Prompto jumped to his feet, wobbly-legged but determined nevertheless, and demanded that they go another round. “Don’t go easy on me, big guy,” he’d insisted right from the start. “I’m pretty tough. I can take it.”

And so their training begins.

Normally, Prompto arrives early, always smiling and always chatty. Sometimes he waves a camera in Gladio’s face, showing him various photographs he’s taken during his morning run.

Today, however, he’s running late. He’s been late the last couple of days, in fact, each time with a clumsy excuse that Gladio doesn’t believe for a second. Prompto’s a lousy liar. And he can’t help but feel disappointed. Not just because the kid’s slacking – though that does form a strong part of his argument – but because he’s been enjoying their time together. He likes when Prompto shows up early and looks pleased to see that Gladio’s already there. He likes being shown photographs, when Prompto moans about Noctis or talks about how excited he is to see an actual real life chocobo. 

So when Prompto shows up late, he feels like he’s missing out on all his favourite moments. And it makes him wonder if Prompto is doing it _intentionally_ ; perhaps all his favourite moments are the very same moments the blond wants to avoid. It makes Gladio sullen and bad-tempered, working through his emotions in the only way he really knows how. He picks up something heavy and _swings it_. 

“Hey, Gladio!” 

The blond appears in his peripheral vision, flushed-cheeked and wild-haired and looking like he’s run a marathon to show up in front of him half an hour later than he _should_ be. 

“’bout time you showed up,” Gladio huffs, unable to keep the irritation from lacing his words. He runs his fingers through his own unkempt locks, squaring his shoulders a moment later when Prompto begins fumbling through a half-hearted excuse. “We’re here to fight,” he interrupts, half out of annoyance and half out of pity. “If you’re off sucking face with some secret girlfriend, that’s your business. From now on, do it in your own damn time so it doesn’t become _mine_.”

Prompto falters. Gladio swallows hard and pretends not to see the way he visibly deflates right in front of his eyes, brought down by words in a way no physical beating can ever replicate. He doesn’t want to be _mean_ but he’s come to like the guy in the months they’ve spent together. He’s scrappy. Nevertheless, being nice to him isn’t going to save his backside in battle. If pushing him like this is the only way he can get him to refocus on his training, so be it. He likes Prompto and he wants him to stay alive more than he wants Prompto to like him too. 

 

 

Prompto starts showing up on time again. Gladio still gets there early, crosses his arms and closes his eyes and feels a pull of disappointment when he realises it’s another day that the other won’t show up early just to chat with him, regaling him with some exaggerated story or another that’ll make him scoff outwardly and maybe offer half a smile.

He doesn’t know what to make of the fact that he _misses it_ so badly, that fast-forming friendship which had blossomed between the two men just as naturally as breathing. 

When Gladio hears the tell-tale approaching footsteps, he opens his eyes and lazily pushes away from the pillar he’s been leaning against while waiting. Prompto looks distracted, perhaps even watery-eyed. It throws Gladio, his stomach twisting uncomfortably as he wonders if his own harshness is to blame for Prompto looking so sad.

He’s trying to think of how to ask, how to explain himself, when Prompto realises he’s looking and smiles one of his usual dazzling smiles. There’s no trace of tears in his eyes then, nothing sullen at all in his countenance. If Gladio hadn’t been so certain of it just a moment before, he might have fallen for the illusion, how effortlessly Prompto conceals his worries. His armour might be different to the kind Gladio wears, but it’s still armour all the same.

“Blondie,” he greets, opting for a lighter tone to start their session. His lips curl into a casual smirk, betraying nothing of his curious mind. “Ready to get your ass handed to you?”

Prompto is appreciative; it shows in the crinkle of his eyes. “Actually, I’ve been practising,” he says with all the eagerness he’d imbued in their first sessions. “You ready to be proven _wrong_?”

Gladio doesn’t go easy on him, even though he’s trying to be nice. He’s impressed by how far Prompto has come in his training. He’s strong, but he’s not brawny in the way Gladio is. He’s lithe, agile; it suits him better to use that to his advantage in battle, dodging and weaving, attacking from afar.

Before finishing up for the day, they sit together companionably, both breathing hard and basking in the late afternoon sun. Prompto seems more winded than usual but Gladio doesn’t think too much of it. He’s worked hard. “There’s no secret girl,” Prompto says after a while, leaning back on his elbows and staring hard at the clouds. “I mean, I know you don’t care, man, but… there really isn’t.”

“Good,” Gladio says without thinking. He’s sure that even his ears turn ruddy as he stammers to correct himself. “Can’t have you losing focus, dreaming of your own wedding bells before we even reach Altissia.”

Prompto exhales a laugh, some of the tension leaving him as he wipes the sweat from his brow and stands up with a languid stretch of tired limbs, wincing on account of how sore his muscles are. “Same time tomorrow?” he asks conversationally.

“Same time as always,” Gladio replies distractedly, his gaze lingering on the mottled skin on Prompto’s arms. It’s the first time he’s _noticed_ them, the blond having shucked off his jacket at some point during their sparring session only to begin pulling it back on before he leaves. 

Once he’s gone, Gladio keeps thinking about the harsh discolouration of the bruising on Prompto’s skin. He wonders if he himself is responsible for it, though he can’t recall ever having been so rough. Perhaps Prompto bruises easily? Perhaps his stubbornness has led him to keep quiet, even when Gladio is hurting him? The thought leaves him feeling strangely uneasy so Gladio tucks it away, resolving to be more attentive from now on. 

 

 

“So what’s the decision?” Noctis asks, arms folded and full of attitude. “Does he pass or not?”

Gladio rolls his shoulders back, heaves a heavy sigh and turns to face him. “Blondie?” he asks, though there’s really no need. He’s trying to act _casual_ , like he hasn’t spent almost every waking moment thinking about Prompto, looking forward to training with him and dreading it all at once. He doesn’t like how complicated he feels around the other. Training has always been his escape; it’s strange for it to cause so much conflicting emotion now.

“No,” says Noctis, entirely deadpan. “My _other_ best friend who you’re torturing every day for no good reason.”

“ _Torturing_?” Gladio sits up straight, his brow set in a furrow. “Is that what he says it’s like?” His heart feels heavy at the thought. He doesn’t imagine for one second Prompto looks forward to seeing him in quite the same way Gladio looks forward to seeing him, but to refer to their time together as torture? That seems at least a little excessive.

Noctis keeps his arms folded, though he looks more petulant than anything as he replies, “Well, no, but he doesn’t need to. I know him. Something’s going on with him! He’s covered in bruises. Whenever I ask him to come hang out here, he’s always late. It’s _weird_.”

Gladio hums, his mind drifting to the bruises he’d seen on Prompto’s arms before he’d covered them up that day. He’d put it down to a one-off occurrence, figured he’d been responsible for them, but now he’s not too sure. Is Prompto being picked on? He’s a scrappy guy, but he’s a soft-hearted one too. Gladio can’t imagine him holding his own in a battle of that nature and it makes him angry to think of a situation in which it’d be necessary for him to. 

“I’ll look into it,” Gladio decides.

Noctis frowns. “He’s _my_ best friend,” he argues, as though worried Gladio might endeavour to steal that title from him. It almost makes his Shield laugh outright; he wants a lot of things he shouldn’t, but he definitely doesn’t want to be Prompto’s new best friend forever.

“And I’m _your_ Shield,” is what he says. “I’ll look into it.” He emphasises the full stop, letting Noctis know that there’s no room for compromise here. He has a legitimate reason to be meddling in his affairs, given his family line. And, well, _maybe_ he has his own agenda too, but that’s no reason why he shouldn’t look into things on Noctis’s behalf. 

“Fine,” Noctis says with a huff, mumbling something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like ‘I can’t believe you wanna fuck my best friend,’ so Gladio practically runs away then, deciding it’s not – and will never be – the right time to be having that particular conversation.

 

 

A few weeks later, Prompto is late again. Gladio’s already been there an additional half hour (he never did get over missing those pre-training conversations) so he decides enough is enough. There’s nothing to stop him doing a little investigation of his own, he figures. At least then he’ll have a better answer than Prompto’s flimsy excuses for why he’s been showing up so late, if nothing else. He doesn’t quite know how he’s going to handle it if Prompto does have a girlfriend – boyfriend? – keeping him busy. 

In fact, Gladio hasn’t really thought it through at all. It’s a spur of the moment decision, a ‘fuck it, let’s do this’ deal that he finds himself regretting the more distance he puts between him and their usual meeting place. What if Prompto thinks he’s a stalker? What if stories are actually _true_? Gladio figures for ninety-nine liars, there’s still one poor kid in class whose dog _does_ have a taste for eating homework. 

Nevertheless, it’s too late for him to back down now. Gladio is a lot of things, but he’s not a _coward_. And, as it happens, he doesn’t need to walk far to find where Prompto’s been waylaid. At first, he doesn’t understand. His steps shorten, his speed decreases rapidly, and he watches in confusion how Prompto behaves with the guards stationed outside. 

It’s broad daylight and Prompto – happy, energetic Prompto – looks afraid. It makes no sense until suddenly it does. Everything does. Gladio’s jaw drops when he sees Prompto try and move past the two stood in his way, only to have one of them grab his wrist and the other strike him hard across the face. He can see the guard’s lips moving but he’s not close enough to be able to hear him speaking. It’s a good thing too; if he was any closer, Gladio might not have been able to keep his temper in check upon hearing the smack, the taunting jibes. As it stands, he’s barely able to stop himself from charging in now, putting himself between Prompto and the guards and demanding they pick on _him_ instead. 

Instead, he resumes a normal walking speed, though he makes sure to call out to Prompto as if he’s only just seen him. “ _There_ you are!” he says loudly, plastering on a smile that doesn’t reach his rage-filled eyes. “I thought you must’ve gotten lost on the way here. Maybe Noct should give you another guided tour.”

By the time he’s reached Prompto’s side, slung an arm heavily around his shoulders to steer him away, the guards have backed off, looking suitably panicked. Gladio has a reputation and it’s not for _mercy_. 

Prompto all but falls into his side, glad of the rescue though his eyes remain low even once the guards are far behind them. He doesn’t say a word, perhaps because he’s not sure how much Gladio has seen. 

“Talk,” Gladio says when they’re alone, sitting down and patting the space next to him for Prompto to do the same.

Prompto hesitates for a moment but Gladio’s challenging stare soon convinces him to do as he’s told, exhaling heavily as he flops down beside him. “It’s really no big deal, dude,” he starts, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Probably looks loads worse than it is, y’know?”

“Don’t pull that shit with me,” Gladio snaps. “You talk. I listen. We figure out a way to fix things. That’s the deal.”

Prompto sits rigid, his shoulders full of tension as he stares at Gladio like an animal caught in oncoming traffic. “Fix things?” he repeats, his voice an octave higher than usual. “What’s there to fix?”

“I’m no Iggy,” Gladio begins, “but I’m not _stupid_ , either. You’re a scrappy kid. You wouldn’t take treatment like that unless they’ve got something on you. So what is it?”

“I can’t tell you,” Prompto says after a long silence, frowning. He keeps playing with the cuff he has wrapped around his wrist, turning it in slow circles. Perhaps it’s a nervous habit. Perhaps it means something.

Either way, Gladio doesn’t mention it. “How bad is it?” he asks instead.

“Bad,” Prompto answers, his voice cracking. 

“It’s just those two assholes? No one else knows?”

Prompto nods his head, his lower lip wobbling in a way that makes Gladio want to storm out and deliver both men in question to an early grave. 

Instead, he sighs and counts to ten to curb his temper. Whatever secret Prompto is keeping, whatever his reasons for keeping it, he won’t pry. What he _can_ do is ensure its safe-keeping, delivering the men to a far worse fate than his own uncontrolled ire.

 

 

He delivers both names to Ignis, asking for a favour without any questions being asked. It’s a testament to how long they’ve known each other – although perhaps it’s because Ignis is fond of Noctis’s best friend too – that he doesn’t ask for any more information than Gladio can provide. 

The result is an immensely satisfying one; two new guards step in to fill the positions recently vacated and a rumour circulates that messing with the Argentum kid is strictly off-limits. If Gladio’s entirely honest, it’s a rumour that starts because of him, and one he actively encourages. It’s his job to keep Noctis safe. Keeping Prompto safe, however, is a mission he’s set himself.

 

 

It’s the beginning of spring, a season of new beginnings and – for them – it holds particular significance. It’s the last season they’ll see in Insomnia before they take to the road in the trusty Regalia. Truth be told, Gladio finds himself looking forward to the trip. It’s a chance to stretch his legs and set up camp, honing his survival skills. He’s sad to see the end of his training sessions with Prompto, however. Especially when their friendship has only grown since the altercation with the guards. Prompto _trusts_ him. It’s a nice feeling, one which warms his heart and makes him feel lighter somehow. 

Blondie’s _cute_ , and though Gladio hadn’t wanted to think too deeply about Noctis’s sulky accusation and Ignis’s knowing smiles, he finds that he enjoys teasing Prompto more and more with each passing day. Sometimes he’ll throw a casual wink his way when he notices him staring for too long, smirking to himself as something so small leaves Prompto floundering somewhere between wanting to laugh and wanting to die from mortification. 

“Well,” says Gladio on the last day of their training. They’ll be hitting the road the very next day and he selfishly wonders if Prompto will pay him much attention when Noctis will be there all the way. “Congratulations. You pass.”

Prompto looks at him, wide-eyed and grinning. “I _pass_?” he repeats, considering the words for a moment. “Huh, so what you’re actually saying is that I’m a damn good fighter, right?”

“No,” Gladio says, amusement curling his lips into a sly smirk. “I’m saying there’s a chance – however small – that you _won’t_ get yourself killed before we reach Altissia.”

“Eh, that’s basically the same thing,” Prompto laughs, knocking lazily into Gladio’s side and sighing happily when it earns him a ruffle of his hair. “But, y’know, we could always… carry on training, if you really think I’m so bad at this?”

“Yeah. You’re the _worst_ ,” Gladio enthuses, though the broadness of his grin very clearly says he has other motives. Perhaps they both do. “Guess I’ll just have to give up more of my valuable time to keep your ass outta trouble…”

“Guess so,” Prompto grins right back at him.

Gladio knows he’s screwed then. He _likes_ this guy. He likes him more than he knows how to express in words. 

 

 

It’s a long time coming when he finally plucks up the nerve to kiss him. 

Prompto is _beaming_ at him, his cheeks rosy and his lips parted with exertion as he pulls of a particularly difficult manoeuvre. It’s breath-taking to behold, flawlessly executed, and he looks so damn pleased with himself afterwards that Gladio fells the last of the creatures in one last damning swoop of his sword as he crosses the field of battle.

And then he _kisses him_ right there while Noctis openly gags and Ignis sighs in exasperation for his choice of setting. But none of that matters because Prompto is laughing against his lips, a little dazed as he sways with him, and they’re both high on the thrill of having survived yet another long battle. 

He draws back for a hasty breath – survival is still key, after all – but Prompto stops him when he tries to steal another kiss. 

“I need to talk to you,” he says, his voice whisper-soft. “Just the two of us.”

Gladio’s pretty sure he would agree to anything, nodding dumbly while his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He’s not sure why he waited so long; kissing him is addictive. It takes all the strength he can muster to take a step back, sharing a meaningful look with the blond before he turns on his heel and starts to direct them all to a nearby haven.

The journey to Altissia has hardly gone to plan but some things have worked out in a way Gladio anticipated they would. When the news spread about Insomnia’s fall, all he could do was feel grateful for the fact Prompto was there at his side; if those initial protests of his had been listened to, the blond might well have died there. 

 

 

Gladio tries not to look _too_ obviously impatient as they wait for Noctis and Ignis to retire for the night. He supposes it must come across regardless of his half-hearted efforts because both men disappear into the tent far earlier than they would have on any other night. He appreciates it, though, because he’s been _worrying_ – not that he would ever openly admit it, of course – about what it is Prompto wants to talk about. 

At the time, it hadn’t seemed like such a big deal. 

He’d figured, ‘sure, we kissed a lot. It makes sense to talk about it’. The more time that passes between then and now, the less sure he feels. It doesn’t help that Prompto looks so nervous himself. The blond has been uncharacteristically silent in a way that makes Gladio wonder if he’s done something _wrong_ , if perhaps he misjudged the nature of their relationship and now Prompto’s trying to think of a way to let him down gently. 

Because of course Prompto would be the sort to care about that.

It’s one of the reasons Gladio likes him so much; he _cares_ about things like how to let people down, how to spare someone’s feelings. 

“Go on then,” he says when the silence is too much to bear. “Spill it.”

Prompto exhales a noisy breath in the stillness, his eyes shining wetly underneath pale moonlight. “I just--- I don’t want to be in a relationship with you---” he begins to say, and Gladio _winces_. He’s never been rejected before but it feels like having his heart ripped out of his chest and then thrown in his face a moment later. It’s painful and when his eyes sting he curls his hands into angry fists because he’s an Amicitia and Noctis’s Shield and he _can’t_ cry over a boy with stupid hair.

“Fine,” he says stiffly, interrupting. His nails leave crescent-shaped marks in the palms of his hands but he barely notices. “I get it.”

Prompto looks at him dumbly for a moment. Gladio can hear the gears turning as he considers his own words. His eyes widened, startled and frantic. “No! I didn’t mean like that--- I… let me finish! I don’t want to be in a relationship with you _without telling you the truth first_.”

Gladio relaxes, his face softening and his hands unclenching. “Oh,” he says, and it’s as eloquent as he can afford to be in that moment. He’s quiet for a short time before he asks, “Then what’s the truth?”

Prompto doesn’t speak but he _does_ stand. Gladio is confused at first but when he realises Prompto’s slowly approaching him, it occurs to him that some secrets are easier shown than told. He watches as Prompto unclasps the cuff around his wrist and leaves it bare. He meets Prompto’s gaze levelly, not looking at the newly-revealed skin until he’s certain that it’s okay for him to do so --- that Prompto _wants_ him to. 

Finally, he _does_ look. And what he sees there shocks him far more than any amount of mottled bruises ever could. He sucks in a shuddering breath, his eyes studying the black lines etched permanently into Prompto’s skin and understanding without a word spoken between them what secret he’d been so determined to keep hidden. He’s not proud of the small part of him – the part that thinks of protecting Noctis above all else – that leaps to a conclusion of enemies and infiltration. Even as his mind supplies concerns based on this newly discovered evidence, his heart quietly corrects him. He knows Prompto. He _trusts_ him. He trusts that his friendship with Noctis is real. He trusts that their relationship means something. It means far more than any brand stamped coldly onto his wrist, telling him where he used to belong. 

The thing is, Gladio doesn’t care about that.

What he cares about is where Prompto belongs _now_. With him.

“What?” Gladio says at last, his tone teasing but his eyes soft. “That’s it?”

Prompto squawks indignantly, fumbling to cover the barcode once more, but Gladio captures his wrist before he can, lets his own fingers conceal it from the world as he draws him into another, softer and more meaningful kiss. 

“Gladio…” the blond murmurs, unsure. There’s another question there, another _fear_.

“Don’t worry,” Gladio answers. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love this pairing, okay? <3


End file.
